


Center of Gravity

by Several_Squirrels



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Snowed In, Sort Of, Stinger is Caine's commander, They don't do anything more than kiss sorry everyone, Wings, as much as is possible in four chapters, i'm disgusted with myself, this is set way before the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Several_Squirrels/pseuds/Several_Squirrels
Summary: Gift for Winchesterwolf for the 2019 Jupiter Ascending Secret Santa on Tumblr (this was my first time participating!)Prompt: Caine/Stinger, Snowed-in, Kepler-452bI hope you like it!*Yells*I like the forbidden love trope because I'm gay!*Inside voice*I have no excuse for bed sharing, mutual pining, or idiots in love.Set a while before the events of the movie: Stinger is Caine's commander in the Legion. When they're stranded together on the snowy pole of Kepler-452b they have to share a bed and face the fact that they have feelings for each other.
Relationships: Stinger Apini/Caine Wise
Comments: 17
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MorganWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganWolf/gifts).



> This is a complete work, but if I had more time it would be way longer, so I do want to write an epilogue or a sequel at some point but no guarantee on when that might happen.

“Damn budget cuts,” mutters Stinger as he whacks his tracker for the fifth time. The glitching map struggles back to life for a moment, before the screen goes black with a half-hearted series of beeps.  


“Shit.”  


Stinger slips the pad back into his bag, fumbling at the clasp for a moment with frozen fingers. He glances up at Caine, noticing the soldier’s blue tinted ears and lips with a frown. Stinger’s expression quickly smoothes into indifference as Caine pries his gaze up from the treacherous, frozen ground to look back at his commander.  


“How are you holding up, Caine?”  


Caine nods once. “Fine, Sir.” It’s not convincing, but Stinger can’t say he’s fairing much better.  


Caine’s arms are folded across his chest, with his chin tucked down and his wings pulled close to his body. His breath fogs with every short breath and the condensation freezes on his short beard. He hates the cold. This is not how he had hoped the day would go.  


Their assignment had been simple, locate and dismantle a RegeneX smuggling ring operating on the planet Kepler-452b. A hand-full of Legionnaires with a competent commander should have made short work of it, even if the target was situated on the uninhabited southern pole of the planet. But then the storm and the ambush hit them at the same time. Stinger did his best to get the squadron out, but the smugglers had known they were coming. Their monitors barely had time to warn them about the white-out storm, and before they could react, they were enveloped in it. Then blaster bolts began to pick them off, one by one. By the time the firing stopped and Caine saw the bright burst of the smugglers’ shuttles taking off, his teammates were either dead or scattered. He had no idea which way led back to their transport and the wind was far too strong to fly in. Even if he could have gotten into the air without all of his feathers being blown off, he couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction.  


Caine stumbled through the blizzard. Through the haze of cold and confusion he felt an insistent pain making itself known on his side. Just a graze, he hoped, from the smuggler’s fire. His foot slipped out from under him and he fell forward. His wings flared, barely softening the landing as he hit the ground on his hands and knees. He clenched his teeth as the insistent pain ripped like fire through his abdomen. Okay then, maybe not just a graze. He grimaced, leaning back on his knees and trying to catch his breath. That’s when Stinger had found him. Caine’s commander was stumbling through the storm in a similar fashion and had tripped into him by chance.  


Caine looked up at the hazy figure, squinting to make out details. “Sir, is that you?”  


Stinger put a hand on Caine’s shoulder to steady himself, wind buffeting his feathers from the back. He had to shout to be heard over the storm.  


“Caine? Oh thank the stars, listen, this storm’s scrambled all of my tech, do you know which way the ship is?”  


Caine shook his head, not bothering to shout back.  


Stinger grunted his acknowledgement, looking up for a moment. “Well we’d best stick together. Pick a direction soldier, we’ll see if we can find anyone else on the way.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------  


They had not found anyone else. He and Stinger had been marching slowly through the storm for what must have been hours.  


Caine’s feet feel numb and no matter how hard he jams his fingers under his arms they feel as cold and as brittle as the ice they walk on. He focuses on the ground, putting one foot in front of the other, trusting his commander not to lose—  


“—Caine Wise!”  


Caine’s head shoots up, and looking at Stinger with wide eye he realizes he’d been calling his name.  


“Sorry sir, what is it?”  


Stinger frowns at him deeply, wondering how bad of a shape the other man was really in.  


“This way, I see something,” says Stinger, moving closer to Caine and guiding him with a hand on his shoulder. Caine doesn’t protest.  


They traverse the next few yards of ice more slowly than they had been. Both of them are about ready to collapse but neither acknowledge it.  


Caine is the first to speak as they approach. He utters the sentence “It’s a shack.” with more enthusiasm than anyone has probably ever uttered that particular string of words with.  


Stinger nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, and lets go of Caine’s shoulder to inspect it. Caine follows, only now realizing how much warmer the spot under Stringer’s hand had been than the rest of his body.  


The shack is tiny, but it seems a much better alternative than freezing to death. Within inches of the door Caine nearly changes his mind. As he goes for the doorknob a smell hits him that makes him take a step back. Stinger looks at him questioningly, a hand drifting towards his holstered blaster, probably assuming Caine has noticed something dangerous.  
Caine shakes his head, grimacing. “You can’t smell that?”  


Stinger seems perplexed. “Smell what?”  


“Fish. A lot of it.”  


Stinger lets out a huff of air that might be laughter and moves in front of Caine to try the handle. It doesn’t move.  
Caine is about to offer his help but a sudden wave of pain from his side causes him to slump against the building for support. Damn. He’d almost forgotten about that. Stinger doesn’t notice, he braces his shoulder against the door and pushes with impressive strength for someone who’d been stranded in sub-zero temperatures for… well Caine isn’t actually sure how long it’s been now.  


The door swings open, frozen lock snapping. Stinger leads the way inside and Caine follows close behind.  


He makes a pained noise and covers his nose, “Oh the smell.” At least it made sense now, it seemed like they had stumbled into an abandoned fishing shack. There were fishing rods stacked up in one corner and a large saw hangs mounted above the door. A single bed with sheets and no pillow sits snug against the back wall, nearly taking up the entire room, with enough space left over for a cupboard, counter, and chair. It seems like a temporary living space for one person. Just enough light filtered through a boarded up window to see as Stinger shut the door against the snow piling onto the splintering floorboards.  


Stinger chuckles, spirits apparently raised now that they’d found shelter. “Well, I’d offer to air the place out but I think that sort of defeats the point.”  


“No, no. I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.” He’s embarrassed at how he’d reacted to the smell but it’s making his stomach churn. He’s sweating too, and shaking. He grabs at his stomach suddenly and when he pulls his hand away it’s coated in blood.  


“Caine Wise?” comes Stinger’s soft voice. He looks up. Stinger had turned away from forcing the door shut and was staring at the blood on Caine’s hand with wide eyes.  


Caine opens his mouth to reply. His eyes roll back and his knees give out. Stinger catches him before he hits the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

Caine groans as he wakes up, his wings are spread under him uncomfortably and he feels stiff and sore. He tries to flip onto his front to free his wings but is stopped abruptly by a dull pain in his side. He hisses through his teeth as the memories of the previous several hours come back to him.  


“Morning, sleeping beauty. Glad to see you’ve finally rejoined the land of the living.”  


At the sound of his commander’s voice, Caine opens his eyes. They’re still in the shack. Although the smell isn’t bothering him as much anymore, he’d hoped they would have been found by now. Although, they had failed their mission pretty spectacularly. Maybe it was for the best that they were still stranded.  


Caine tries to sit up in the bed but falls back with a grunt of pain. Stinger is up from his chair next to the bed in an instant, arms supporting Caine’s back and propping him up with one of their bags once he’s upright. Caine grits his teeth, fighting back embarrassment, it’s all he can do not to push his commander away. Instead he looks up at Stinger and nods his thanks.  


“Morning, sir.”  


Stinger turns away, pulling out a med kit from his own pack.  


“Just Stinger is fine right now, I think. And I’m not sure it’s actually morning.”  


Caine blinks, unsure how to respond. “Oh.”  


His commander—Stinger is fine now, he reminds himself (it isn’t like they need to uphold decorum for anyone in this room)—sits on the edge of the bed.  


"The storm hasn’t let up at all. I tried to open the door earlier but I think we’re snowed in.”  


The room is dim and cool, even with the glowing heat bulb Stinger had placed on the counter. Caine can hear the wind trying to tear the wooden siding off the hut. He doesn’t acknowledge their situation.  


“How long was I out?”  
v“A few hours. Not too long.”  


Caine glances down at his wounded side and then back up at Stinger.  


“You were shot. Missed all the vitals but you were bleeding pretty badly. I wish you’d told me instead of passing out.” Stinger looks at Caine’s side pointedly and opens the med kit. Caine moves his hand away from the wound.  


“I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d make us stop. We would have frozen.”  


“You slowed us down,” he huffed, peeling the patch on Caine’s side away with gentle fingers. Caine watched him work silently. “And you nearly died.”  


Stinger’s amber eyes flicked up and met Caine’s for a brief moment before looking back down. It’s quiet except for the sound of their breathing for a while longer, as Stinger re-dresses the wound with another generous smear of RegeneX enhanced ointment. The Legion doesn’t spare a lot of RegeneX for the troops, just enough to keep them patched up and young enough to fight.  


“Where did you sleep?” Caine wonders aloud.  


Stinger nods at the chair in the corner, the one he’d been sitting in when Caine woke up.  


“Oh,” and then when Stinger leans back, satisfied with his work, “thanks.”  


Stinger offers a small smile in response and ruffles Caine’s hair affectionately. “A day more and you’ll be good as new.” He starts putting the med kit back together.  


A smile tugs at the corner of Caine’s mouth. Something about being bedridden with injury with Stinger watching over him must be making him nostalgic. “We both know I wasn’t any good when I was new.”  


Stinger looks back up at him, one eyebrow raised. Caine answers quickly, “when I was a recruit I mean. You remember.”  


Stinger’s confusion melts into a fond smile. Stinger had always been closer to Caine than any of the other splices under his command, he’d seemed determined to see the young lycantant succeed back when Caine first joined the Legion.  


“You were fine. All the recruits start out a bit… unrefined.”  


“I was the runt.”  


Stinger lets out a short laugh. It makes Caine smile.  


“I know that,” says Stinger. “I dragged you to the medic more times than I can remember.” Stinger’s smile fades and he seems lost in memory for a moment. “I remember a few times… I wasn’t always sure you’d make it through training.”  


Caine looks down, knowing he’s reliving the same memories Stinger is. The years spent in the facility, a runt, sold to the Legion for a loss. Stinger was his commander even then. It’s good to form bonds between soldiers early, builds trust. But in those early years his teammates surpassed him in every way. Caine could never shake the feeling that he was holding everyone back, his team, his commander. But Stinger was patient and he was always there, he was tough on Caine, but only enough to make him better.  


“I did, though.”  


“Yeah, I know. I should have never doubted you, you always had a lot of spirit. You were much more determined than the other recruits.”  


Caine lets out a humorless chuckle. “Not like it helped me.”  


“I think it did, more than you know.” Stinger looked down at Caine’s wing, spread awkwardly between them on top of the blanket. “Lycantants… you’re supposed to have a pack, Caine. People who are like you, a center of gravity. You were separated from your siblings, they told me there was a good chance you’d waste away within the first few months of training. But you didn’t.”  


Caine is silent. It feels odd to talk about this, he knew all this, of course, in the back of his mind, but he never dwelled on it long. It just got in the way. But now that Stinger was saying it, putting it out in the open like this, it was impossible to ignore.  


Stinger reaches out to smooth one of Caine’s feathers down, they’re still ruffled and damp from the cold. Caine watches his hand. He speaks before he can decide whether or not he should.  


“I think you were my… my ‘center of gravity.’ I’m pretty sure, for a long time, you were the only thing keeping me alive.”  


Stinger’s hand stops moving in his feathers, he looks up with a creased brow.  


“What about the other cadets? Your friends?”  


Caine looks at him with warm eyes. “You were my friend too. A better one than anyone else ever was.”  


“Oh, Caine.” Stinger’s hand lifts from Caine’s wing. For a moment Caine thinks he’s going to reach out to him, but Stinger seems to think better of it and withdraws his hand. Stinger looks away abruptly, staring down at his lap which the med kit is still lying in.  


“You should get some more rest.”  


The moment—whatever it was—shatters. Caine feels more disappointed than he should. His gaze, still directed at Stinger turns cross.  
“I’ve been resting.”  


Stinger stands, not looking back as Cain begins to push the blankets away. Stinger puts the med kit on the counter and frowns at it. He was getting distracted. Caine was distracting him. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, what he said was… out of bounds. Inappropriate. He was a commanding officer and Caine Wise was his soldier, not a friend or… Maybe he could chalk both of their behavior up to fatigue and injury.  


The sound of a pained grunt distracts Stinger from his thoughts and he turns around to find Caine teetering out of bed, clearly determined to irritate Stinger.  


Stinger lunges forward and grabs Caine by the shoulders before he can take another step or collapse onto the floor. Stinger thought the latter seemed more likely with the man’s current condition.  


“Bloody Hell.” Stinger overcomes Caine’s weak protests and pushes him back towards the bed. “Are you trying to take a fucking stroll in the blizzard?”  


“I don’t need to lie around anymore, I’m fine. We should be trying to get out of here,” Caine replies stubbornly.  


“What do you think I’ve been doing? It’s no use until this weather passes.” Stinger kneels on the mattress next to Caine, trying to manhandle him back into a comfortable position. He leans over Caine to straighten out his wing and Caine sighs in defeat. Stinger looks down at him.  


“Just try to heal, it won’t be much longer now. You’re not a synthetic, you can’t just run back out there like this, the only thing you’ll do is get yourself killed.”  


Caine glares at him. “I feel like a child.”  


Stinger nearly laughs. Pushing himself off the bed he replies, “Well, you certainly sound like one.” A hint of humor flickers over Caine’s face but it quickly shifts to something more sincere. As Stinger stands back up Caine reaches out to grab his wrist.  


“Hey,” says Caine softly. Stinger looks back questioningly and Caine continues. “Thank you. For everything.”  


Stinger smiles and Caine’s hand, after lingering for a moment longer than it needs to, falls away from his skin.  


Stinger turns, moving over to the window beside the door. He pretends to be interested in what he can see through the cracks in the boards as he rubs the spot on his wrist where Caine had grabbed him. It feels like a brand.


	3. Chapter 3

The hours pass slowly. Caine drifts in and out of consciousness as RegeneX knits itself into his genes and mends his wounds. He grows restless, and at one point even Stinger isn’t able to stop him from leaving the bed and taking a three-step stroll around the tiny room. Stinger tries again to force the door open but it’s stuck fast and the two men can still hear the wind howling outside.  


Caine is feeling tired again by the time they finish off their rations. They didn’t have much food, having not expected to stay on the surface for more than a few hours. Caine thinks it’s nearing the two day mark now. Stinger stifles a yawn.  


Caine looks up at him. “You should get some sleep. I can take the chair or the floor tonight.”  


Stinger shakes his head, responding in a firm voice, “No, you’re still hurt. You sleep in the bed, I’ll be fine.” The shadows under his eyes tell a different story. Caine wonders whether his commander has slept at all since they landed on Kepler-452b.  


Caine starts to stand from his seat on the edge of the mattress but Stinger stands in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Caine looks at the hand, and then back at Stinger’s tired eyes. He knows he’s not going to win this battle, that Stinger won’t let him spend the night anywhere besides the bed. Caine wraps his fingers loosely around Stinger’s wrist, the one not resting on his shoulder, and pulls him towards the bed.  


“We can share. It’s cold anyway,” says Caine, trying to convince himself that there are plenty of logical reasons behind his suggestion.  


Stinger steps back, barely an inch, and disentangles himself from Caine’s grip. “It’s too small, we won’t both fit.”  


“It would work,” Caine insists, feeling slightly less secure about his suggestion now that he’s seen Stinger’s reaction. “But, um. If you don’t—”  


Stinger interrupts him with a wave of his hand. “No, you’re right. It’s a good idea. Stinger sighs. His efforts to distance himself from his soldier were not going well. Caine nods and lies on the far side of the bed, allowing one wing to hang in the space between the bed and the wall, and folding the other against his back. He watches as Stinger turned the light down and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. Caine feels awkward, somehow, as he waits for Stinger to join him in bed. His cheeks feel hot but he doesn’t know why, it’s not as if they were doing anything more than sharing a bed, which was totally reasonable given the situation. He closes his eyes in an attempt to shut out the confusion.  


Stinger inhales deeply and lets the air out of his lungs in a quiet sigh. He isn't in the habit of lying to himself, and he knows that’s exactly what he’s doing every time he tries to convince himself that there’s nothing more than a familial bond between him and Caine Wise. He hates to admit it but if any of his other soldiers had been in this shack with him, he would have had no qualms about sleeping in close quarters to preserve heat and avoid another sleepless night. But with Caine… he’s almost afraid of what might happen if he lets himself get to close. Caine might think Stinger is his center of gravity but to Stinger, the soldier’s gravity is like a black hole. Although he’d never admit it, there had been more than a few moments at the facility in which Stinger had thought about Caine in ways that commanders should not think about their soldiers; had thought about pushing him down onto the mat when he’d been knocked down in training, and keeping him there; about the way his lips moved when he called him ‘Sir’, about how he’d never kissed someone with teeth quite as sharp as Caine’s. Stinger scrubs at his face with his palms, trying to dispel thoughts that he’d been able to ignore for years. Stinger’s never done well to be cooped up, add Caine to the mix and you get whatever’s happening now. Stinger thinks that when he retires (hah) he’d like to live on a farm, somewhere wide and open and away from all the people who confuse him like Caine does. Although, maybe it’s just the confusion he could do without, because when he thinks of leaving Caine he feels crack inside of him.  


Stinger looks over his shoulder at Caine, who’s asleep by now. That was good. Stinger feels the weight of exhaustion settling over him and resigns himself to a difficult night. He lies down facing Caine, careful not to wake him as he pulls the thin blanket up over himself. He arranges his wings in a similar fashion to Caine and relaxes into the mattress. They’re so close, Stinger could reach out and touch him. When Caine breaths (haltingly, his injury must still be bothering him more than he lets on) Stinger can just barely feel it on his face, pleasantly warm in the cold room. His eyelids feel heavy but he does not shut them, unable to stop staring at Caine’s face. It looks so peaceful. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and with the lightest of touches, brushes over the raised lines of the brand on his neck. He pulls his hand back when he realizes what he’s doing, closing his eyes tightly and crossing his arms over his chest. When he finally drifts off to sleep to the sound of howling winds, he’s glad for the warmth between them.  


Caine still had his eyes closed when he felt Stinger settle into bed. He’s focusing on steadying his still erratic breathing when he feels light fingers brush over his neck, trace the contours of the brand on his skin. Stinger must think he’s asleep, Caine realizes, focusing on making no indication that he isn’t. He probably should, he thinks belatedly, open his eyes, make it clear that he isn’t interested in whatever this is. Except… he is. He doesn’t want Stinger to stop touching him, and if he knew Caine was awake he’d probably never try to again. His cheeks flush at the realization. He hopes Stinger doesn’t notice in the dark. He wonders when he started thinking of him as more than a commander, and realizes that he can’t remember a time when he hadn’t wished Stinger would touch him like he was doing now. He’s always felt this way, and maybe that’s why he never really noticed that there was any more attraction than there should be, any more desire to impress Stinger than any other cadet had. He remembers Stinger’s hands on his body during training, correcting his posture, his stance, his face beside Caine’s as he teaches him how to shoot and never miss a mark. He remembers wanting more. He still wants more. He wants to open his eyes and touch Stinger’s own brand, his wings, his skin, and for Stinger not to shut him out. For them to never have to go back to just being soldiers. Stinger’s hand falls away and slowly his breathing deepens, becoming regular as he falls into those first stages of sleep. Caine finds himself hoping he dreams of him.


	4. Chapter 4

They both sleep well, that’s not the problem. Caine was right when he said it would help them stay warmer, they had. Stinger slept much better than he had the previous night. None of that was the problem. The problem was that Caine had just woken up to find Stinger, still asleep, had one wing draped over Caine’s body and a strong arm around his waist. And Caine, also apparently active in his sleep, seemed to have tangled his own legs with Stinger’s. Their faces were very close together. Caine wasn’t sure he could extract himself without waking Stinger, and was not looking forward to Stinger’s realization that they had somehow entwined themselves like lovers overnight. Caine has never been trained on what to do in a situation like this, so he does the only thing he can think of. He braces his hands against Stinger’s chest and shoves him.  


Stinger grunts in surprise and slides off the mattress, hitting the ground with a thud. Caine sits bolt upright, face crimson, trying to pretend he hadn’t just pushed his commander out of bed. Stinger sits up on the ground, staring at Caine with a dumbfounded expression.  


“You fell,” Caine says stupidly.  


Stinger rubs his eyes. “Yeah, guess I did.” He doesn’t sound convinced.  


Caine sits up and swings his legs out of bed, shaking his sleep-ruffled feathers out. He refuses to meet Stinger’s eyes as the bee-splice stands up. Stinger peers at Caine’s downturned face, concern written in his yellow eyes. He steps closer and Caine finds himself leaning away, possibly overcompensating against that troubling urge to lean towards Stinger.  


“You look flushed, is something wrong?” stinger asks, reaching out towards Caine’s face. Caine shrugs away but Stinger manages to land the back of his hand on his forehead anyway. Stinger’s brow furrows. “You’re too warm, are you feeling sick?”  


Caine brushes away Stinger’s lingering hand, replying curtly, “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”  


Caine looks worried as Stinger, lighting quick as always, kneels in front of him and reaches for the hem of Caine’s shirt. “What are you doing?” Caine grabs Stinger’s hands.  
Stinger glances up at Caine’s face and states in a surgical tone, “I need to look at your wound. It could be infected.”  


Caine grits his teeth, knowing exactly what the reason for his feverish symptoms are and knowing that they are not related to any sort of infection. He curses himself. “It’s not infected. It doesn’t even hurt. I’m just… warm.”  


“Well that’s not a very good sign either, it’s freezing in here.” Stinger manages to muscle Caine out of the way and peel up the edge of his shirt. “And you must have been restless in your sleep if you were able to kick me off the bed like that.”  


“You fell,” Caine repeats, brain short-circuiting like their broken down tracker pad as his limited well of excuses began to run dry.  


Stinger very nearly rolls his eyes. “I don’t fall out of bed. It’s fine, Caine, really,” he says, mistaking Caine’s lies for embarrassment. He removes the bandages still clinging to Caine’s torso and reaches out to brush his fingers over it. Caine freezes, he feels like an idiot holding his breath like this just because someone he… well, he wouldn’t say ‘fancies,’ more like… there’s really no good way to put it, he realizes, but just because Stinger was close to him. Kneeling at his side. touching his bare skin. Stars, he curses. Acting like a schoolchild. Well, not that he would know, he was never a schoolchild.  


“It seems fine, almost perfectly healed. Must be something else.”  


Caine wants to scream.  


“Stinger,” he looks up. His fingers, cold, are still on Caine’s skin. Caine’s mouth goes dry. Softly he insists, “there’s nothing wrong.”  


Stinger blinks, once. Twice. The third time something shows in his face, recognition, for the first time, that maybe this thing between them wasn’t so one sided. He places a hand on the side of Caine’s face and slowly, carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll frighten the moment away, pulls Caine down to him. Their lips, both chapped, meet and for a moment that feels much longer than it is, there really is nothing wrong.  


And then Stinger pulls away. He pushes Caine back, not violently, but with the force of a man who can feel himself falling and doesn’t want to take anyone else down with him.  


“Caine,” he says softly, voice sticking in the back of his throat, “I’m sorry this… this isn’t right. I shouldn’t have done that.”  


Caine looks confused. When he speaks he sounds hurt, “What do you mean? do you not feel…” Caine pauses, not sure what to say next. What does he feel for Stinger? There’s definitely something, no denying that now. “… the way I feel?  


“No, I —“  


Suddenly doubting himself, Caine interrupts, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just thought—“  


“Caine Wise.” Caine stops and looks down at Stinger. He takes Caine’s hands in his and says softly, “I didn’t mean it that way. Of course I care for you. I’ve wanted to do that—“ he says, referring to the kiss with a small smile, “— for longer than I should admit.” Caine’s shoulders slump in relief as Stinger dispels his worries, but Stinger’s expression grows serious once again. “I care for you more than a commander should care for his soldier and that’s the problem. This isn’t allowed, Caine. I can’t do this to you.”  


“You aren’t doing anything to me Stinger, I wanted that too. I want this, too. It’s my choice just as much as it is yours.  


Stinger stands up suddenly. He almost looks angry, but Caine can tell he isn’t. The emotion written on his face is something Caine hasn’t seen there before, he thinks it might be fear.  


“Caine,” Stinger pleads, “this… us, it’s against the rules. I won’t allow you to jeopardize your position like this.”  


Caine stares at him incredulously. He would think that Stinger was just trying to come up with excuses is he hadn’t said what he’d said a moment ago, or if he hadn’t taken part in that very two-sided kiss. “No, I don’t care. We’re not fucking synthetics, we’re people. I don’t care if it’s allowed.” Caine half grins, continuing somewhat mischievously, “I’d break the rules for you.”  


Stinger smiles, actually smiles, Caine can see it in his eyes and it catches him off-guard. He can’t help but smile in return.  


“I don’t think you’ve ever broken a rule in your life,” says Stinger.  


“Not true.” Stinger seems more relaxed now, Caine can tell his resolve is cracking quickly. He feels surprisingly happy that he’s the reason for it.  


Stinger raises an eyebrow. “Name one time you’ve broken a real rule.”  


Caine thinks for a moment and then grins again. He leans forward, as if to whisper some secret, and plants another kiss on Stinger’s lips. Stinger is momentarily taken aback but quickly finds it in himself to reciprocate. Their mouths against each-other, open, are like a gentle embrace. Their breath is warm and wet, a stark contrast against the cold dry air surrounding them. But for that moment, as the feeling of nearness, of that long-awaited gratification, overtakes them, they can forget where they are, who they are, everything besides each other. Caine leans back, bracing himself against the mattress with bent arms, and Stinger hovers over him, on top of him. His hands cradle Caine’s face, they scratch against his scalp as he curls his fingers in Caine’s short hair. Stinger’s wings are halfway extended, wrapping around them like a protective barrier, and Caine thinks he could live within them forever. Eventually they pause, break apart, but not so far that they can’t feel each-other’s heavy breath on their faces. Stinger smiles and closes his eyes, he knocks his forehead gently against Caine’s. Caine barely needs to whisper for Stinger to hear him.  


“Just now.”  


Stinger furrows his brow, a quizzical look on his face. “What?”  


Caine lets out a breath of laughter. “I just broke a rule. Twice.”  


Stinger looks at him in a way that makes Caine’s heart soar in a way it never has before. “I guess you did. Might have to break it a few more times.”  


Caine thinks — hopes — Stinger might kiss him again, but instead he looks up, towards the door. Caine isn’t sure what’s gotten his attention but then he hears it too. Or rather, doesn’t.  


“The wind’s stopped,” says Stinger, voicing what they’ve both realized. He glances back down at Caine’s lips (It’s barely noticeable. Caine notices.) before pushing away from the bed with his knee and offering a hand to Caine.  


Snow drifts in as Stinger forces the door open a few inches and peers out. Caine looks over his shoulder, the white blanket covering the world is momentarily blinding and Caine has to blink a few times before he’s able to see the crisp horizon separating a clear blue sky and the snowy, flat land. A few white clouds drift leisurely across the sky and cold air wafts over their faces.  
“I wonder when the storm ended,” muses Caine.  


“Not sure. I’ve been a bit distracted,” replies Stinger, glancing back at Caine with bright eyes. “Now help me with this door. If we can get it open enough for me to get out I can move the snow that’s blocking it.”  


They put their boots and outer layers on and get to work, shoving the protesting, icy door inch by inch until Stinger, with his wings fanned out to either side, is able to slip out. He shovels the snow away with his gloved hands until they’re able to open the door without resistance. Caine steps outside for the first time in days and turns his face up against the sunlight and clean air. He feels happy, happier than he’s felt in a long time.  


Something beeps and Caine opens his eyes to see Stinger holding the emergency communicator. As soon as Caine belatedly realizes that they’ll be able to get a signal through, now that the storm has passed, the buzzing static morphs into words.  


“— is a secure channel for Legionnaires only. Please state your name and rank.”  


When Caine looks at Stinger again he realizes just how different Stinger is when he’s away from the legion (which he’s never really been until now). Now that return was imminent, he looked more serious, stiffer; in short he looked like a commander again.  


“This is Commander Stinger Apini and Skyjacker Caine Wise. We’ve been stranded on the Northern pole of Kepler-452b for several of this planet’s revolutions. We were separated from the rest of my squadron in a storm, requesting immediate extraction and a search for any remaining Legionnaires.”  


There was only static for a moment. Caine found himself, absurdly, hoping that they’d been cut off. Wishing that he and Stinger could spend just a little longer alone together.  


The communicator came back to life. “Request accepted. Expect immediate extraction.”  


Caine sees Stinger’s shoulders slump a little when the communicator shuts off. He turns to Caine with a shallow but sincere smile on his face. He’s excited to return. Caine wants to hold it against him but he can’t, the Legion is all they’ve ever known. It’s home for them. But Caine, having just found the thing he’s always longed for, isn’t sure he can face losing it. What if, as soon as they return, it all goes back to the way it was? With Caine alone, wanting, and Stinger untouchable and stoic once again. He wonders whether they really have to go back, he thinks that anywhere with Stinger could be a home for him.  


But of course they have to go back.  


They gather their things from inside, silently, and in a matter of minutes a shuttle appears as a speck high up in the atmosphere. Caine squints at it while Stinger shuts the door firmly behind them.  


“They’re not going to be happy about how the mission went,” says Caine.  


“I know.” Stinger steps up beside him.  


Caine pulls his wings tighter to his body. The sun is shining but the air still stings. “They’re not going to like us if they find out, either.” He places emphasis on the ‘us’.  


“I know,” says Stinger as the ship slows to a stop just under the whisky white clouds to send down a beam of light and gravity. It forms a circle on the ground about two feet in front of them.  


Stinger reaches down between them and takes Caine’s hand firmly in his own. Stinger is the first to step forward into the beam and Caine follows, glancing down at their hands briefly, and then to Stinger, who meets his eyes readily.  


“But we’ll figure it out. Together,” says Stinger.  


He has a way of making me worry a lot less than I should, thinks Caine as he feels himself begin to float upwards; away from the ice and the time they had together on it, and back towards the Legion and an unknown future.


End file.
